


Through The Heart

by barghest



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Archery, Canon Disabled Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Cigars, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gay Stuff, M/M, Post-Recall, Slight Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, THERES LOTS OF THEM IN OVERWATCH I LOVE IT, all that good shit that makes for sick mchanzo times, haha sory guys, kickflipping ninjas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-07-24 13:13:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7509751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barghest/pseuds/barghest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One moment, Jesse McCree is gunning down Talon agents like there's no tomorrow. Next, he's got a chest full of arrow and a head full of empty, thanks to a mysterious archer. McCree's sent after him, with the order to kill him if the archer poses a threat.<br/>Unfortunately, it seems, the archer is a skilled thief and - corny as it sounds - he's stolen Jesse's heart.</p>
<p>
  <b>EDIT: 25/05/2017 pretty much can consider this fic dead :v i have no intention of coming back to it and now i'm kind of over the premise, so i probably won't be rewriting/reworking it any time soon! i'm too busy with work to commit to a long project such as this as it is. thanks to the people who enjoyed what there is, though. please read my other fics.</b>
</p>
<p>EDIT: 20/08/2016 putting this fic on HIATUS for a month or two. i'm not feeling happy with the way i'm writing it, so i'll come back to it later with fresh eyes. expect more content elsewhere in the meantime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. San Roque

**Author's Note:**

> god fuckin. hu (tumblr user whatisupdog) this is all your horrible little fault. i am so tired. the shimada shuffle vine is playing on loop in my head and i made a homestuck joke in the summary of this fic.  
> anyway, predicable gay situation, mccree is a lovesick pupper on the hunt for him boyo (hanzo "beautiful brown eyes" "jewel of asia" shimada). hes supposed to kill him. things dont go according to plan. itll get gay soon, i promise. my hands are so tired right now.  
> anyway YES this will be...so sporadic in updates. i work/study in film which means every other week im on set screaming silently abt mchanzo to myself and freezing my ass off (thnx sydney winter). i hope to do at least something a week tho!!
> 
> god im so sorry for this, its so rambly
> 
> anyway  
> 1\. i have spent an hour staring at hanzo's eyes and i Think theyre brown  
> 2\. im aware that its confirmed hanzos legs arent prosthetic but jesse doesnt know that + i have a theory ok  
> 3\. i hope you enjoy!! i love comments + my tumblr is mccreehaw if you wanna chat abt it \o/

Jesse McCree is not having a good day.

It started early in the morning, when turret fire and distant yelling smashed through his hangover, startling him enough to make him fall of the bed. His hat had vanished in the night, it seemed, and he nearly stood on a bottle on his way to the bathroom, hurriedly pushing a comb through his hair. Poncho pulled on just as hasty, it was only when he made it way half way down the stairs did he realise the ruckus was just practice fire, not an actual attack - and that his pants were on backwards. A poor beginning.

Breakfast had been a passable affair, before he stuffed himself into the backseat of one of Overwatch's jeeps, gun digging into his leg as Reinhardt squeezed in beside him. The giant had clapped him on the shoulder in greeting, and McCree had felt the inside of his head rattling a little, like a giant maraca. A non-fun, slightly grey-faced maraca.

"Where're we headed?," he barely managed to speak as the vehicle rumbled away along a back road lined with tall trees, the light dappling through the sun roof as they drove. Mercy had the wheel, and she had barely glanced over her shoulder to reply.

"San Roque." The vehicle had tipped a little round a bend, and he had covertly clutched his stomach, just in case. Mercy didn't seem to notice, "76 received intel from Genji, he's located a pocket of Talon agents that have been causing havoc in town." As if on cue, a flash of green and silver had darted past the window - if McCree had been looking, he would have seen the lithe cyborg throw them a thumbs up as he flipped past. "Somewhat of a nuisance, it seems."

"What's the plan?," for the first time, he noticed Lucio in the front seat, eagerly listening in. 

Face still turned towards the road, Mercy grimaced, "retrieve and destroy. 76 wants the ringleaders rounded up, but we must dispose of the rest before they do any more damage."

"More than just a nuisance, then," Reinhardt rumbled, and Jesse had closed his eyes, stomach still churning a little with the jeep's motion. Disposal was never fun, no matter what the reason. Years ago, Blackwatch had been the assassins, the silent labourers of Overwatch's dirty work - and he had a stronger disposition then, less of a conscience to hold him back from pulling the trigger. Peacekeeper was heavy on his hip now, and more often than not he liked to keep the peace without firing her, if possible. He had sighed and pretended his headache was the reason he phased out of conversation, poncho pulled up over his nose so he wouldn't be called on to talk.

It was fine, honestly, at first. They had sent Reinhardt in first, crashing into the Talon agents' base, weapons bouncing off of him like they were made of rubber. McCree went in blazing before peeling off to search the upper echelons, radio at his hip in case they needed him.

"We have the group leaders," crackle through before too long, Mercy's voice clipped and to the point, "now clear the building." He lifts his receiver to reply, and--

An arrow whistles past his head, a few chopped hairs floating down beside him. McCree freezes, the Peacemaker halfway back into her holster on his hip.

He waits for a moment, counting in his head - one, two, three - before taking another step.

This time, he hears the whistle just in time and lurches to the side, rolling around the hallway and into an alcove as three more arrows tear through the air. Clutching the receiver, he whispers, "there's an archer upstairs, tread real careful if you're coming this way. D'you want me to bring him in?"

Mercy takes a moment to reply, distant gunfire amplified on her end, "get rid of them, 76 said. We have everyone we need."

"Might be useful, though."

"And we don't have any more room in the truck!," he can hear her hiss even over the static. "Neither Genji nor 76 mentioned an archer, so they can't be important." There's a pause as she empties her clip, then her tone softens a little, "I more than anyone do not enjoy doing this, but we can hardly leave any wandering around. Just be quick." And she is gone again, and he is left alone in the corridor with an out of sight enemy and a reluctant trigger finger.

Christ, McCree cannot help but think, Overwatch might be illegal now but we sure are not letting people forget it.

He struggles to his feet and tugs at his poncho a little, before poking his head out into the hallway. No one in sight. The archer must be further up, or have moved. Peacemaker sits comfortably in his hand as he hugs the wall, feet swift across the floor boards. One creaks and McCree narrowly dodges another arrow, thunking into the wall where his face had been a second before. He can only press on, the nausea from earlier rising a little higher in his gut - another arrow clips his metal arm, chipping the metal before lodging itself in the wall. He frowns a little, not having time to inspect the damage but still knowing of its presence. Not a bad marksman, even if they did choose an archaic device to work with.

McCree scuttles up a set of stairs, but the archer remains out of sight, and another arrow barely misses him - but it does hit something soft and fleshy. Spinning on his heel, he can only watch as a Talon agent sinks to the ground, blood already trickling out of the wound. The agent tries to tug the arrow out, but it only seals their fate, red spraying onto McCree's boots as the agent collapses to the ground.

Jesse wrinkles his nose a little in distaste, "I just cleaned these."

Soft footsteps disappear round a corner - the archer, maybe? He gives chase, Peacemaker leading the way round the end of the upper hallway. "No use running!," McCree tries to be gruff and threatening, maybe the archer will make a mistake, "I'm gonna catch up eventually, y'know. Might as well hand yourself in."

No reply, but at the end of the corridor is a balcony, the doors leading to it the only ones open. Jogging towards it, McCree holds his gun steady, "c'mon, seriously." The nose of Peacemaker pokes through into the open air, then he steps forward after it, "just makin' it harder for you--"

The bow string is stretched taut but it doesn't snap back yet, and McCree whirls round, gun pressed into the face of the most striking man he has ever seen, "--r…self." Belatedly, he realises the safety is still on his gun, but his fingers freeze before he can reach to flick it off, arm starting to sag back from the archer before him. The man's expression is one of surprise, fingertips light on the end of a metallic arrow, and Jesse has to pause for a moment.

(He could pause for more than a moment, if he had the time, to intake the muscle in the man's arms and half bare chest, a foreign piece of clothing covering the rest of his body. McCree could see himself spending ample time on the man's salt and pepper side burns, the high sweep of his ponytail, the sharpness in those otherwise soft brown eyes. The gleam of metal limbs in the Spanish sun. The delicate touch of the man's fingers on his bow, flowing from him as if it were simply another part of his body. Unfortunately, he does not have time to pause.)

"Whoa," is all he manages to say, before the arrow slices straight through his chest, and the archer has hopped over the balcony, running across the rooftop below and away. He sinks slowly to the floor, grip on his gun loosening and knees wobbly. Trying to reach for the radio, he inhales, and feels the burn flare up in his chest. The archer pauses in the distance to look back at him from below, then disappears from sight. Jesse coughs a little, the taste of iron rich in the back of his mouth.

Strangely, it feels as if his day has improved.

\--

"You are very lucky."

"Don't feel it," Jesse can't help himself giving Mercy a lopsided grin as she makes him lie back on the bed, her inspection complete.

She narrows her eyes at him, but lets the comment slide for now, "the arrow missed your heart and only pierced your lung very slightly. You have two cracked ribs to care for, but otherwise you will back on duty in no time."

"Glory be," he stares at the ceiling of the sick bay, prosthetic fingers gliding over the bandages on his chest. "And when will that be?"

"Two days," the doctor packs away her supplies and moves away to check on a wound on Reinhardt's arm, who has been patiently hovering in the hallway. "Technology has moved on since the last Overwatch. You must not move around too much, however, or you will disrupt the repair." The giant holds out his arm dutifully, as she removes the bandaging that had hastily been used in the field. "Do I make myself clear?"

"As crystal."

"Excellent," and just like that, her voice is light and angelic again. Mercy turns her attention to the giant man before her, chatting softly in German as she cleans the wound. McCree stares harder at the ceiling for a moment, then closes his eyes.

The archer is quick to appear behind his eyelids, expression more pronounced in his memory. Jesse takes his time to build up the image - soft sideburns, with a small, neatly cut beard. Strong arms (he always did have a thing for men that looked like they could lift him with one bicep), somewhat old fashioned prosthetic legs, - Jesse had to hold himself back from rushing to the next bit - a broad chest decorated with tattoos. He had hardly had time to gawk, but the archer had seemed east Asian in appearance. Antique looking bow, brand new arrows. Perfect combination of the old and the new. Very pretty eyes.

Jesse crosses one arm over his body, pulling the sheets up over himself. Jack would ask him everything, and he better have something more to answer with than how attractive he had found the man who had nearly taken his life.

\--

Jack comes bearing gifts.

"Figured you'd be cooped up enough," they lean side by side on the balcony, a corridor across from the sick bay, as he holds out a lighter for Jesse. The cigarillos are different from his usual smoking fodder, but McCree isn't one to turn down a free gift, nodding his thanks before inhaling.

"Best not let Mercy see you conspiring like this with a patient," he can't help a little wink. Jack's chuckle is soft behind his visor.

"Angela's well aware of the capabilities of the miscreants in her care," he pauses, before growing more sober. "We need to talk about the other day, though."

"Mhm," McCree nibbles the end of his cigarillo, before pulling it away from his mouth. He tries to blow a smoke ring.

"Yes," Jack tilts towards him. The smoke ring dissipates inches from Jesse's mouth, and he resumes his chewing, avoiding the soldier's eyes. "I don't enjoy pressing, but we have confirmation the archer got away. You're the only one who saw him up close, Jesse, we need to know everything we can if we're going to catch up."

"Wasn't dressed like a Talon agent, if that's what you're wondering. Probably long gone by now, anyway."

"Jesse."

He looks down, still avoiding Jack's gaze, but the soldier shifts his weight, leaning closer. This is not an interrogation, Jack's voice is saying, but there's a threat in the way he carries himself, in the fold of his arms, that it could become one - if Jesse doesn't feel like coughing up the facts. Perhaps he can see that far away sparkle in McCree's eyes every time he thinks about the strange archer with the half bare chest and pretty brown eyes. Perhaps Jack thinks him weak for it.

"Did you recognise him, Jesse?," Jack cuts through his brooding and McCree blinks a little in surprise.

"What? No," he barely holds back a laugh of relief, "no, not at all. Jeez. Only kickflipping Asian man I know round these parts is Genji." Mild racism aside, it gets Jack to withdraw a little, nodding in understanding.

"Good, you had me concerned for a moment there," the soldier's posture relaxes just a little. "And that's a start. Any particularly stand out features?"

For a moment, McCree pretends to think, "apart from the fact he's an archer? Old fashioned looking bow, I guess. But modern arrows, like. Metallic and stuff."

"We managed to salvage the one Angela pulled from you," Jack nods. "Go on."

"Hmm," Jesse scratches at his beard, "shorter than me. Probably about my age, though. Maybe a bit older. Dragon tattoos." Over a strapping chest and a muscled arm that would put Gabriel Reyes to shame. "Looked like he was wearing prosthetics or something on his legs." Neat little beard. Big brown eyes. Probably best not to mention any of that. "Like I said, didn't really look like any of the Talon agents. And he shot one of them."

One of Jack's eyebrows raise, "shot one?"

"Yeah, might've been a mistake, though. They were literally right behind me," the cigarillo disintegrates in his mouth and he spits it over the balcony. Pulling another from the pack Jack brought, he sets it between his lips, "could've been aiming for me."

"Maybe," Jack straightens up, adjusting his jacket a little. "When does Angela release you?"

"Tomorrow, she says."

"Good. Because I'm sending you after your archer friend." Jesse casts him a look. "There's some local reports of a stranger fitting your description a little further north. Catch him up. Find out what he was doing firing arrows at us." Jack gives him a serious look - as serious as one can be from behind a visor, "if he's Talon, take him out. If he's not, bring him in."

"Who's coming with me?"

"No one," Jack turns to leave. "Your first solo mission, Jesse." He pats McCree's shoulder on the way out. "See you tomorrow."


	2. Going Coastal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree is on the move. There's a Reapening. There's lemons, of the edible variety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "im gonna update every week!" WHOOPS HAHA IM TERRIBLE  
> more accurately; work got in the way so here it is now lmao yay sorry about the wait,,,  
> (hopefully ill update quicker in future and not get caught up in writing other fanfics instead lmao)

Packing supplies with him before dawn, Jack explains that to send more than one person would draw too much attention, and they don't want the archer scared further away. Besides, McCree was the only one who knew what he looked like, so why send anyone else?

Company would be nice, all the same - but Jesse doesn't argue, cleaning the Peacemaker as Jack double checks provisions, sitting cross legged on the floor with saddlebags on his lap. The Australians had been kind (read: bullied by Jack) enough to lend him their motorbike, sans cumbersome sidecar, for his mission. Supposedly it'd help him avoid detection that could come from a larger vehicle, but he's not sure if he's convinced. It's parked behind where Jack is sitting now, half in the shadows of the Overwatch garage - every now and then he glances over, as if checking it's still there.

"All the same," Jesse ventures, voice barely raised above a whisper, "don't yer think it'd be best if I had company? Someone to watch my back."

"No one is spare," Jack fastens the saddlebags closed, satisfied with the contents.

"Not even you?" The old soldier can only shake his head without looking up. He looks tired, for a moment, more tired than McCree has seen him in quite some time. It strikes him exactly how old Jack is. How many years he's been fighting. (It strikes him that he hopes, when he reaches that age, he doesn't have to keep fighting as much or as hard as Jack. He hopes to have achieved piece at that time.) 

Jesse puts the Peacemaker back in her holster, and stands, tipping his hat, "I best be off then."

"I expect daily updates, McCree."

"'Course," they attach the saddlebags together, and Jesse tries to smile reassuringly. Jack's visor betrays nothing. "Hold the fort 'til I'm back." Stay safe, he wants to say, but he holds back.

The road out of the base is empty as he leaves. Beneath him, the motorcycle purrs, quieter than he expected. Soft brown eyes haunt him at every turn.

\--

Two days pass, with nothing of significance to report. Three days. Four. Jesse stops off in a small town, and spends an evening in the shadows of a local festival. He drinks heavily, and the brown eyes follow him to bed in the later hours.

\--

The fifth day brings a fresh lead. Jesse turns his attention to the coast, tailing two figures cloaked in shadows as they make a hasty exit from the town at noon. He wouldn't have bothered, had they not stuck out like a couple of sore thumbs amongst an otherwise quiet tourist populace - and they were betrayed by faulty camouflage technology. It flickers as they climb into their vehicle, and he catches a glimpse of the faces of two well-known Talon agents beneath the masks. Quite the catch, if he had time to bring them.

Jack is, of course, quietly excited when he radios in. "Did you manage to capture their faces?," his voice is distant, even over the radio link. "Your helmet has a camera installed in the visor." Jesse can only look guiltily at said helmet, which has been riding on the saddlebags from the moment he was out of Overwatch HQ's sight.

"Uh, sorry," he tries his best to sound remorseful. "Wasn't riding at the time. If I catch up with them, d'you want me to try?"

"Of course," Jack doesn't sound too upset. A blessing.

He catches up with their vehicle when they turn off the road towards a seafront property, tucked behind an expansive lemon grove. The gates close behind him - clearly not particularly effective security, he's a little surprised - and he hides the motorcycle in a small clearing before continuing on foot. Sure, not as fast, but the scrape of his spurs against the rocky driveway is quieter than the bike. It's not like he isn't going to come back for it, once he's dealt with the possible Talon nest. (Why follow them? If his latest run in with Talon says anything, his mysterious archer might not be far behind. Jack had approved.)

Ahead of him, the road ends in front of an aging building and the vehicle slows to a stop, engine cutting out. Jesse pushes a lemon branch aside to watch them get out, the front door of the house opening to spit out another Talon agent to greet them. None look in his direction - but a moment later, two point their guns straight at him. His hand is already on Peacemaker.

No, slightly above him. An arrow blossoms from the chest of the third. Jesse can't help but smile.

One of the remaining two topples a second later, two arrows embedded in their head and a quiet rustle above him as the archer shifts position. He glances up, but the branches obscure all but a sliver of the archer's costume through the leaves. Then it's gone, the archer scaling the rest of the tree, only a rustle of leaves and fruit in his wake. Two lemons fall, narrowly avoiding Jesse, and the front door of the building opens once more, spilling forth a contingent of guards. Their guns fan out in Jesse's direction - and it's time to leave.

He flattens behind a tree trunk as a spray of bullets cut up the leaves where he'd previously stood. An arrow fells another agent, and he drops another with Peacemaker, tracking the archer through the trees. Gunsmoke fills his lungs - he'd old fashioned, he has to admit, Peacesmoker simulates the powder from old Westerns - and Jesse reloads behind another tree. A lemon explodes beside his head, and he ducks as the juice sprays him. 

A branch creaks - snaps - the archer drops into sight far to his left, stumbling across the ground as he struggles to draw back another arrow. The Talon agents spread out, caught between them - two of them fall under Jesse's bullets, he glances at the archer loosing another arrow, brown eyes glare at him in confusion for a moment before turning back to the oncoming wave. Jesse feels heat skim his arm as a bullet tears through his poncho, and darts behind another lemon tree. He's distracted so easily, what a fool.

There's a twang and a bark of irritation - Jesse empties Peacemaker into three agents and looks round in time to see the archer lunge forward, slamming one end of the bow into an agent's face. There's a swell in his heart at the sight. 

Only two remain, one of yelling into their radio for back up. They begin to retreat, and he's close enough to the archer to raise a hand, "hey--"

Jesse feels something sharp and cold slam into his chest, it's like the arrow all over again, the edges of his vision shake and darken--

\--

"There's reported sighting of Reaper up the coast, commander," Pharah sticks her head into Jack's makeshift office, datapad in hand.

Jack doesn't look away from the window, fingering a cup of cold coffee, "don't call me that."

\--

\--and he's stumbling back, the end of the bow lodged in his chest. The bowstring hangs loosely, snapped by a Talon bullet. Jesse grabs a hold of the bow, about to pull it out when a hand grabs his wrist.

"Don't! Pull it out!," the hand on his wrist tightens, and the bow digs a little deeper. Jesse coughs a little - those brown eyes are close again, as close as they were the first time. The air around them slows.

"Whaddaya tryin' to do, kill me?," he has to smile, despite himself. 

The archer snarls just a little, wrapping his other hand in Jesse's serape, "shut up, and follow me."

"I don't really have a choice--"

"Shut up!" They back up, retreating deeper into the lemon grove. The archer pulls him into a hollow - he lets out a little yelp of pain, only to be aggressively shushed - and back him down into a sitting position. He opens his mouth to speak, but tastes the leather of the archer's glove shoved against him. Alright, fine. Silence it is.

With good reason, it seems. He feels cold (or is that just the wound in his chest, almost right into his scar tissue?) - and the leaves sway a little, before a shadow passes by them. He catches a glimpse past the hood of Reaper's skeletal face. He presses against the rough earth underneath him, the archer crouching at his side.

Reaper circles round to pass by them again, the growl of his voice rumbling through the ground beneath them. Two of them, working together, he asks? There's a mumble of a reply from someone else, before Reaper instructs them to scour the area himself and bother him with it later. He floats out of sight, a spectre of death (and wishes to not be disturbed, apparently) - and the cold trails after him. The leaves still again. Jesse breathes out, only to wince a little.

"What? S'stings," he whispers, when the archer jerks round to look at him. "Can I take it out now?"

The archer's hand relents enough to stop driving the bow into his ribs, "one moment." Jesse watches him shrug off his pack and fish inside, bringing out a small medipack. "Hold still." Not much of a warning, before he bends the bow to the side slowly, enlarging wound. Jesse grits his teeth - the archer pushes a finger into the wound, digging under the bow - and then it's free. He exhales as the archer pushes antiseptic into the wound, before sealing it up. "Don't pull a blade from a wound, it will only cause you to bleed out." Taking one of Jesse's hands, he presses it over the dressing to hold it in place whilst the glue settles, "there." Those brown eyes look up at him again, still cold and suspicious.

"Tha--," a thin blade presses to his throat, "--nks." So much for that.

"Who are you," he can feel the blade giving him a free trim to his beard, "who are you with. What do you want?"

"Little hard to answer," he manages to get out, and the archer loosens his knife just a little bit.

"Answer me," the archer hisses.

"My name's McCree, I'm," is he allowed to be honest? Is that a good idea? Jesse swallows, and tries to look friendly, "I'm on my own. Lone ranger, y'know."

This doesn't appear to satisfy, the archer narrowing his eyes, "you have to be with someone. Who do you work for?"

"Solo lobo, partner," Jesse lifts his hands in surrender, trying for the least threatening smile he can muster. "I ain't working for anyone."

"Then what do you want?"

"I," he has to think for a moment. "I was curious. Wanted to see what you're up to." The archer frowns harder. Shit, not buying it at all. "Look," Jesse slowly extends a hand, "I'm not Talon if that's what you're worried about. I mean, I thought you were."

It catches the archer off guard, "n…no, never." It works - the knife lowers enough to let him breathe easy again. "I feel like I have seen you before."

"I think we ran into each other a week or so back," his smile is easier now. "Shooting up some Talons, huh? You're a great shot."

"I put an arrow in your chest."

"I'm good at bouncing back, huh," the cheekiest of winks accompanies his words. Somehow, it soften the archer just a little. "You've not told me your name."

The archer hesitates a little, resting back on the other side of the small hollow to breath. He inspects the dented bow in his hand, fingers running over the broken string. After a moment or two, he looks up, and Jesse bites his lip a little, "Hanzo." He stares warily at Jesse's hand as it's extended towards him. 

"Well it's nice t'meetcha, Hanzo," his hand still hangs in the air in front of him. "Where'd you learn that wound stuff, House of Flying Daggers?"

Hanzo flashes him a hard look, "I'm Japanese, idiot." He ignores Jesse's hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notes: at the end of house of flying daggers, the protagonist has been stabbed with a blade and to prevent her lovers from continuing to fight, she pulls it out, thus bleeding to death. its a chinese film, jesse is just dumb and unintentionally racist....idiot boy.... the method of removal for the tip of hanzos bow (which, i imagine, is pretty sharp so he can stab people??) is referenced from reading guides on arrow removal (another thing you shouldnt try to rip out of you lol). also, reaper, i guess!!
> 
> the one time i went to spain, it was a shitty school trip and we didnt go to very interesting places BUT the houses near our youth hostel had the biggest lemons ive ever seen

**Author's Note:**

> EXTRA NOTE: san roque is not too far from gibraltar, which obvs is overwatch base of operations. figured i wouldnt throw them too far, okay.


End file.
